


When Sherlock Solved The Case Of The Persistent Hiccups

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Getting Together, Hiccups, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-12 03:51:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20149795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Sherlock tries to help his brother getting rid of his annoying hiccups.





	When Sherlock Solved The Case Of The Persistent Hiccups

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChrisCalledMeSweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [John Watson's Twelve Days of Hiccups](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20101015) by [ChrisCalledMeSweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/pseuds/ChrisCalledMeSweetie). 

> Inspired by a Johnlock story from an exceptionally lovely writer who allowed me to write a Holmescest version of it. Thank you, sweetie! :)

Mycroft Holmes was in a bad mood. Actually it wasn't just _bad_. It was the worst mood he had been in for practically decades, and that included finding out that his baby brother was using drugs, being matched for his only school ball with Emma Jennings (which had less to do with her being Emma Jennings but with her being a female), meeting John Watson, and the current PM becoming the current PM.

“Would you like more tea, sir?” Anthea looked down on him with eyes full of sympathy.

“No, tha**_hic_**nks. It doesn’t… help **_hic_**.” His right hand balled itself into a fist.

“I just remember my grandmother told me to breathe very deeply.”

Mycroft gave his PA a dark look and tried it. It ended in a coughing fit, decorated with more hiccups.

This was ghastly! This was intolerable! He didn’t have such stuff! And yet he had hiccupped himself through a meeting with the Home Secretary, who had laughed every time and made fun of him. Mycroft had almost strangled him.

It just didn’t stop. It had stopped for half a minute or so but then he'd had three hiccups within ten seconds afterwards. He'd had enough! Three hours! Nobody had the hiccups for three sodding hours!

And it wasn't over…

“Cancel **_hic _**my meeting with the Prince. It's impossible for **_hic _**me to go there.”

“But he said he needs to talk to you urgently, sir. I'm sure he won't mind.”

“But _I_ do **_hic _**mind!”

“I can try but his PA really said he needs to talk to you today… Perhaps… no…”

“Wh**_hic_**at? If you **_hic _**have an idea that actu**_hic_**ally works, tell me!”

“Not a cure but… why don't you ask your brother for help?”

“Are you **_hic _**out of your mind? What is **_hic _**_he_ supposed to do about **_hic_** this?” Damn… It was only getting worse.

Anthea shrugged. “Well, he's a scientist after all. He might know what helps.”

Mycroft grimaced. And hiccupped twice in quick succession. He sounded like a bloody frog! His throat was getting sore! And he bet he would get some serious muscle ache in his diaphragm…

“I mean – can he really make it worse?” Anthea asked matter-of-factly.

From Mycroft's experience, his brother could make nearly _everything_ worse without having to try too hard, apart from the weather maybe or the PM. But _he_ certainly didn’t know how to cure himself… “Fine **_hic_**, call him if **_hic_** you think he could really make a difference fo**_hic_**r the better…”

“It's a challenge for him. You know he loves challenges…”

She might have a point here. And he had only two hours before he had to go into this meeting. And he really didn’t want to spend it with hiccupping into the Prince's face every ten seconds…

*****

Sherlock said, “Hello, Anthea,” and then not much anymore. He had seen John's face lightening up at the mention of Mycroft's attractive assistant (as if he shouldn’t know by now she wouldn’t even date him if he was the last man on earth) and then turn into both curious confusion and anger about the fact he would soon have to go to his shift in the clinic and wouldn’t be able to participate in any case the British Government had for them.

Mrs Hudson joined them with a tray, listening as well to Sherlock's occasional _'aha's'_ and _'oh-oh's'_. When he ended the connection, his two friends looked at him expectantly.

“So you have a case for the government?” John demanded to know. “What is it? Terrorists? Someone threatening the Queen? What?”

Sherlock grinned. “Much better. My brother has the hiccups!”

Both John and Mrs Hudson stared at him as if he had grown a second head. “And what's the big deal? He should just bend down and touch the tip of his toes, then it goes away,” John said with a shake of his head.

Something about this picture did something weird to Sherlock's brain. He hastily pushed it aside. “He's got them for three hours now! And he will have to attend a meeting with the Prince in another two hours and he needs to get rid of them. And they asked me for assistance!”

“Sex helps,” Mrs Hudson said casually while putting cups onto the table.

“What?!” came from both John and Sherlock simultaneously.

“At least it always helped _me_.”

John giggled. “If that's true, he should just shag his PA and voilà!”

Somehow Sherlock didn’t like this image that much. “My brother doesn’t like women,” he mumbled.

“He doesn’t like _people_,” John corrected him. “Well, go and see if you can provide a cure. Three hours… That's really long for the hiccups. Perhaps he's swallowed a human head and now it's stuck somewhere in him.”

Sherlock burst out laughing. Yes, that sounded more like his brother! He gathered his coat. “Well then, off to battle!”

He had a case! A weird, strange case. But still a case. Sherlock loved cases!

*****

“Hello Anthea!”

“Sherlock. Thanks for coming. He is…”

“_Hic_” came from the other side of the door that was separating her office from Mycroft's.

Sherlock grinned and Anthea raised her forefinger. “Don't make fun of him. He's not in the mood.”

Sherlock laughed. “Is he ever? But don't fret. I've googled all possible solutions for his little problem. Didn’t you do that, too?”

Anthea sighed. “We've tried a couple of things already. Hot tea. Ice water. Drinking from the far side of a glass – it only made quite a mess. Breathing into a paper bag. Gargling. Biting into a piece of lemon...”

“The latter can't have had much impact on his expression…”

Anthea's lips twitched but she gave him a stern look. “Nothing helped so far, and he has to go into this meeting in not even two hours. You call yourself a scientist, Sherlock. Do something!”

“Aye, sir, madam. I shall do my best and save my important big brother from the dragon called Hiccups.” Sherlock gave her a sarcastic little bow.

Seconds later he knocked at his brother's door. “The hiccup-cavalry has arrived to…”

_“Get your silly bottom in **hic** here!”_

Sherlock shared a look with Anthea, who shrugged and gave him an _'I told you'_ face. “On my way!” he said then and entered the holy halls of his brother's office.

*****

His brother did look the worse for wear, Sherlock registered when he entered the bright room. His usually impeccably styled hair was tousled, his eyes were reddened, his tie was lopsided and looked damp, probably from the failed water-cure, and he gave the overall impression of a man at the end of his tether. Well, he was a man used to be in control of everything and everyone, and to be betrayed by his own transport like this had to be disconcerting and horribly annoying. He was a pitiful sight, really.

The first word Mycroft said to him was, unsurprisingly, “**_hic_**”. “So,” he hissed then. “What's your **_hic_** suggestion?”

“Oh, I've got plenty. Anthea told me what you've tried already."

Mycroft nodded darkly. “**_Hic_**. Yes. Nothing **_hic_** worked. So? What else **_hic _**then?”

Sherlock pulled out his phone. “Let's see what we can try first. All right. Stick out your tongue!”

“What **_hic_**?”

“Your tongue. Show it to me.”

Mycroft's face clearly said that Sherlock should rather stick out his tongue so he could… But his brother would never say something like this. He sighed, interrupted by a hiccup. “What good **_hic_** should that do?”

“I will pull at it. They say that helps.”

Mycroft shook his head in horror. “No! _I_ will **_hic_** do that then.” And he poked his tongue out and grabbed it with his hand, his face a grimace of disgust at this horrifying action. He drooled most unattractively, hiccupped a few times, and the slippery thing tried to escape his fingers but in the end he rather rudely pulled at it and then shook his head like a dog that had lapped at something awful. And hiccupped. And groaned.

“Okay,” Sherlock said. “Next one then.” He cleared his throat. “Apparently laughing helps. So… What is big and green and sits crying in the corner? The Incredible Sulk.” He giggled and then he sighed when Mycroft just stared at him with his eyes narrowed. “That was a _joke_. You're supposed to _laugh_ about it.”

All Mycroft said was “**_hic_**”.

“Fine. No jokes then.”

“What does **_hic_** that even mean? Incre**_hic_**dible Sulk?”

“Just forget it, all right?” And then Sherlock stormed towards his brother's desk, screaming.

Mycroft shot up from his chair and managed to hit him in the face.

“Ouch!” Sherlock rubbed his cheek.

“What was **_hic_** that?!”

“Getting startled is another way. Clearly doesn’t work either…” He read on and then raised a finger at Mycroft and went to the door. “Anthea, do you have sugar?”

“Oh! Yes. Just a moment.”

“You should take a spoonful of sugar in your mouth,” Sherlock explained to his brother, still standing in the doorframe.

Mycroft gave him a suspicious look. “And then **_hic_** you will make jokes about **_hic_** my diet!”

Sherlock sighed. “No. You wanted me to try and here I am, helpful and caring and all I get is resentment?”

“Sorry,” Mycroft mumbled and hiccupped again.

“It's all right. Would think the same if I were you.” He hadn't been that nice to his brother lately. For the past ten years. Or fifteen.

“Here you go.” Anthea handed him a porcelain sugar bowl and a spoon.

Sherlock thanked her and closed the door again. “Open up.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I can do that alone. **_Hic_**!”

“Perhaps it's better if someone else does that. So, open up your mouth, Frog Prince.” Sherlock giggled and received a stern look. But damn, this noise sounded actually pretty cute…

Mycroft took the sugar into his mouth and looked at him like a child that didn’t know what to do with the horrible piece of carrot his mother had forced him to eat.

“You can swallow it now.”

Mycroft did. And hiccupped.

Sherlock tutted. “You're a tough case, brother mine. But I'm not at my wits' end. Not by far! Take your fancy jacket off and get up.”

“Huh?”

“Stand up, Mycroft. I know you rarely do that during a work day but I want to try something else.” In the end John, a doctor, had suggested this cure.

Mycroft glowered at him but did as he was told, making a 'what now?' gesture when he had walked around his desk. He wasn't wearing a waistcoat but he had put these weird metal rings around his upper arms. Sherlock had never truly understood what they were good for. But they looked rather… interesting on him. That was not their subject now though.

“Fine. Now bend down and touch the tip of your feet. No bending the knees!”

“Don't **_hic_** be ridiculous. I can't **_hic_** do that!”

“Of course you can. See?” And Sherlock demonstrated the action. He didn’t get quite down to his shoes but almost. And the point was of course not really touching the feet but folding oneself to take the pressure from the diaphragm. Or something like that.

Mycroft looked rather weird when he came up again. There was a tiny blush on his cheek and he was blinking rapidly. “I don't **_hic_** know,” he mumbled, avoiding to look at Sherlock's face.

“Just try it. Slowly. Don't hurt your back or anything.”

Mycroft gave him a rather desperate look and after taking a deep breath, he did bend down. And Sherlock's mouth went dry. God… His brother had really long legs. And what a pert little backside he had…

“Sherlock? I'm down here now **_hic_**.”

He forced himself to tear his eyes from a rather forbidden view. “Um. Get up again. And?”

“**_Hic_**.”

“Great. That answers my question.” This little action also _raised_ a lot of questions… And then he remembered how Mycroft had looked when _he_ had got up from doing this… Interesting… But not what this was about now! He had a case and he had to solve it, dammit!

Mycroft had dropped in his chair again, rubbing his face in a pitiful gesture.

Sherlock was about to ask him if he was allowed to ram a needle into his hand (which Mycroft would have probably denied) when a knock at the door startled them both.

“Ye**_hic_**s?”

“Mycroft? I need to give you this and you must read it quickly. Your PA didn’t want to let me through but…” The elderly woman who had stormed over to Mycroft's desk looked from one man to the other. “Oh. You're the brother.” She said it as if it was a contagious disease.

“The one and only.”

“Sherlock, this is Lady **_hic_** Elizabeth Smallwood, a colleague of **_hic_** mine.”

A colleague that was a bit interested in him, wasn't she? No matter that she looked old enough to be Mycroft's mother; not even the masses of makeup could hide this fact. She was wearing a rather conservative blouse but had put on a short, swinging skirt and shoes that were too high for the middle of a work day. But then, these people didn’t usually move that much, did they?

Sherlock casually walked around her to the other side of Mycroft's desk while she was bending over it. He had an idea.

While Mycroft was talking with the woman, not looking overly fond of her, he took the umbrella his brother had leaned against the wall and turned it around. Mycroft gave him a confused glance before focusing on the lady again, hiccupping every few seconds, which she didn’t even seem to notice. Sherlock placed the handle of the umbrella under the seam of the skirt. When the woman finally turned, he lifted it and Mycroft clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

She whirled around like a poisonous snake. “How dare you?”

And then Sherlock was slapped in the face the second time since he had arrived in Mycroft's office and dropped the umbrella.

She stormed out of the office and left the Holmes brother giggling relentlessly. Giggling and, in the case of one of them, hiccupping.

“Damn, it didn’t help either,” Sherlock snorted when they had calmed down. “But it was funny.”

“You know **_hic_** she will hate me forever now.”

“But that might at least keep her from trying to get into your pants…”

“True **_hic_**. I owe you…”

They smiled at each other and then Sherlock hurried to his brother again, sat down on his desk – and planted a kiss on his smiling mouth while pinching his nose.

Mycroft gasped and tried to pull away, but Sherlock kept his lips and fingers in place until Mycroft got pliant in his grip – or close to losing conscience as his airway was blocked, who knew. Before he could collapse, Sherlock let him go and wondered if his own eyes looked similarly dazed as Mycroft's did.

“That was… **_hic_**.”

“Damn. Try again?”

Mycroft didn’t answer. He just nodded and a second later Sherlock was kissing the living hell out of him, not bothering with his brother's long nose this time. He sucked at his bottom lip and let his tongue play with Mycroft's, and he hardly noticed the frequent hiccups Mycroft hiccupped into his mouth. This was _nice_!

Eventually he straightened up and walked to the door on rather shaky legs. “Anthea. Please make sure we're undisturbed. I need to, um, try a rather delicate cure and, well...”

“Sure,” she said nonchalantly. “Nobody gets in.”

“Great. Thanks.” And with this Sherlock walked back to Mycroft, who was watching him from behind his desk with wide eyes. Every bit of aggression had left him now.

“What… What do **_hic_** you want to do?”

“An orgasm should be helpful, too.” It had helped Mrs Hudson!

“An… Oh…”

Sherlock placed himself between his brother's legs and licked his lips. He had never done anything like this before but dammit, how hard could it be? And he had to solve this case! His honour as the one and only consulting detective was at stake! He unzipped his brother's trousers and rummaged in his underwear until he had brought something long and pale-pink and rapidly swelling to light.

“Damn. Who knew you're hiding such a fat thing in there?” And with this Sherlock went to work. This had to help! But then he recalled something else he had fleetingly read. “Wait! Get up! Get your pants down.”

Mycroft stood up on trembling legs, beyond protesting now. Trousers and pants were shoved down and Sherlock pulled them from his legs a moment later. Better to get them completely out of the way.

“Now sit on the edge of your chair. Like that. Rectal massage!”

“Huh?” made Mycroft most unintelligibly and groaned when Sherlock started rubbing his entrance with a spit-wet finger. “Oh.”

And then Sherlock bent over him again and suckled at the fat head of his brother's cock noisily while slowly working his finger into him, rubbing and poking at tender flesh. A constant stream of hiccups, moans and curses accompanied his efforts while he was licking and sucking, drooling and lapping, massaging and slurping, and then Mycroft bucked up and shot Sherlock's very first sperm-dessert down his throat with a low groan that was probably echoing through this entire building of 'don't-dare-speak' rooms.

Sherlock swallowed rapidly, greedily even, memorising the texture and the taste of his brother's essence. When the big cock finally softened and slipped out of his mouth, he wiped the drool from his chin, his eyes glistening with pride. Because what he hadn't heard from his brother since he had started erupting like a fountain was – a hiccup.

Mycroft stared down on him as if he was the eighths world wonder. “My God.”

“_Sherlock_ is enough,” the detective smirked. And then he hiccupped.

The brothers shared a disbelieving look and then they started howling with laughter, and Mycroft pulled him up so he sat on his naked thigh and pressed his waist. “Let's see if I can cure you now, little brother mine.”

And Sherlock thought that this case had definitely been a _ten_. **_Hic_**!


End file.
